Jesus Freaks for Writers discussion
January-February 2015 Contest
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*1st Place* Think Fondly, When You Think of Me
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Sorry if it's a little hard to read- the indents, paragraph, etc. got a little messed up when I copy & pasted my entry. Also, I can't remember if I RSVPed for the contest, so this is my entry & my RSVP (it's before the deadline, I think).
Good luck to the other entrants & happy writing!
Mod
I'll read it when I get the chance!
Mod
Mod
Congratulations!
I look at the photo of a painting, stuffed inside an envelope, along with a number of typed and handwritten papers. The Mona Lisa. For centuries, historians have wondered why Leonardo da Vinci picked a seemingly random peasant to paint. They wonder what is hidden behind the mischievous glance she conspicuously throws you. Why her lips upturn slightly, independant from the stoic expression offered by the commonwoman of her day. Where the winding roads went. What the landscape preceding Mona Lisa meant, if anything. Why the aire of mystery and whisper of enigma. They practically kill themselves trying to understand the mind of a genius, the mind of Leonardo, himself. But they cannot. So instead, they satisfy their hunger for knowledge with questions about the woman inside the painting.
The letter in my hand was precious. Little did I know, as I ripped open its envelope carelessly, how truly precious its contents might be. The letter, accompanied by a volley of typed documents, was written with loopy, beautiful letters. As I hungrily read through it, I recognized whose handwriting it was. My mother’s.
Cecilia,
If you’re reading this, you are no doubt confused and feeling a bit betrayed. Betrayal is not a fun emotion to feel. Abandon it as quickly and completely as possible, dear, and listen to my story. It is odd writing this to the teenage-you, as I hold the newborn-you in my arms. Know that as I wrote this, I held you, and hopefully this letter will give you a feeling that I am still with you.
Below are entries I have yet to write -yet to wrote? It’s all so confusing. Anyway, before you begin, I want you to know that I love you, and I write this now so that you know how I am-was while I am-was in the past. I write the following honestly, so as to give you a clear glimpse into my future and your past. While I may not be able to provide you with a motherly hug, know that I am with you always. I love you forever and hope you understand my decision.Think fondly, when you think of me.
Leesil Hurst
I pause between entries. Her words seem to reveal her true and honest feelings. As I re-read the letter she wrote, I cannot help but notice her writing style- confused, but confident. Loving but leaving. She is an enigma -mysterious and peculiar- as she has always been to me. I continue reading. The letters begin to be addressed to ‘Tamen’, the man whom, as I re-read the return address, this was sent from.
Tamen,
I apologize in advance for any misconceptions; I haven’t quite figured out how to regard my past, which is the future. Everything is so different here. What used to be ruins are now new buildings, or haven’t even been built yet. I found the woman you spoke of. She is as compassionate as you had described and I stay with her currently. There are some inconveniences, but mostly I am glad to be alive and safe. My clothing and hairstyles are foreign to the local’s and their regard for me is disdainful to say the least. I will keep the updates coming as often as possible, without gathering the village’s unease. They are very distrusting here. I am just glad to have a small piece of home, however dangerously electronic it may be.
Give Cecilia all my love, and John, too. Leesil Hurst
I stare at the page in front of me. So much for staying calm. My heart begins to race as I read my mother’s first entry. What does she mean ‘my past which is the future’? None of this makes sense, but I think it’s too late to turn back. I have only dipped my big toe into the pond of the information concerning my mother, and I am already confused. But, I think, it is too late to turn back, now.
The next update is addressed also to Tamen. I notice all the updates are dated the same day, but they seemed to be spaced farther and farther apart as the entries continue. I begin reading again, absorbing her words like a sponge.
Tamen,
How did you know Bertha, the woman I stay with? How did you know she would take me in? How is the experiment going? Are you getting the results you expected? I am beginning to realize just how inquiring I sound. My apologies. Well anyway, the people here are very anxious to newcomers, as always, though I have found one trustworthy friend. The interest in me has begun to fade, since Ciuta has just had another child. The entire town in consuming themselves in baking for her. It is an odd custom, considering baking is the only thing she likes doing, unlike cleaning and cooking. I haven’t seen Ciuta in awhile since her baby reminds me of the one I have left behind. Tell Cecilia I love her when/if she asks about me, okay? And send my updates to her and a letter explaining everything on her eighteenth birthday. She ought to know about me.
My eyes begin to water a bit as I continue reading. My eighteenth birthday. That was yesterday. At least I know she thought of me frequently. I continue reading, a watery smile framing my face.
Please let me continue writing. Though it is risky, I have to have an anchor to my homeland- homecentury and I cannot bear to leave behind my last link to 2000. Please try to understand.
Remember to give these to Cecilia. You must.
Leesil Hurst
Did they try to make her cut ties? End communication? How could they? Wait. Realization hits me and, my knees buckle. I flop to the couch. She was in the past. My mother, Leesil Hurst, was dropped into the past, and they asked her to cut ties from us?! My face burns and I can feel streaks of red appearing on my cheeks. My hands shake uncontrollably, and the paper begins to tear. I stop, my anger and hurt subsiding rapidly. The worst thing I could do right now it destroy her last words. I must continue reading.
Tamen,
Everything is as you would read in a history book, except that it is not all flowers and rainbows, or rather, it doesn’t all smell like flowers and rainbows. How could it, if no one here bathes? I struggle to keep myself presentable to my own personal standards without attracting attention. The locals seem to have a certain amount of contempt toward my clean ways. It is as if soap was not invented to be used for what use it for now. I miss the clean smell of Dove soap, and the homogeneous color, scent and texture, which is far from the gritty lard and ash we use here. Tell John I have met a man, Fredrik.
Leesil Hurst
Did Tamen ever convey the message to my father? He came through for me, but has he lived in agony, a wife in the past, a daughter to be raised in the future, without any word from the love of his life? Did he die before he could read the updates from my Mother?
Tamen,
Tell John I have regretfully moved on in my life, here in Italy. I have married. Tell him I still love him, but I do not wish to remain a widow. I will live with Fredrik, my 1500s beau. While I do not live him, like I love John, he offers much needed comfort and support. I love him like a brother.
To Cecilia: Remember, I still love you. Think fondly, when you think of me.
Updates will come infrequently now that I know how you feel about your precious results. Cut me from my home. Goodbye, Tamen.
Leesil Hurst
I could practically hear the venom in her words as she spits out a final goodbye. If she has even a fraction of the temper I have, I have no doubt that after her last message there was a massive bonfire in her backyard. An image appears in my head of her, my mother, angrily sweeping away excess computer wires from a pile of ash to hide any evidence. I laugh. I don’t know her but I know me, and she can’t be too far from that.
There are two final pieces of paper. I shudder as pull them out of the envelope. The first paper is a death certificate. Died: 1527 AD of old age. I stifle a sob and read the last piece of paper.
Cecilia,
As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now, you’re mother was sent to the past in October, 2014. Your mother, born 1977, died 1527, was the first unmarried woman to ever be sent back in time. This, was a feat in and of itself. Your mother, however, being the astonishing woman that she was, also recorded herself in history for you. I sent you a copy of the Mona Lisa, currently held in the Louvre for a reason, Cecilia. Look into her eyes and tell me you do not see a bit of yourself. Cecilia, Leonardo da Vinci was traveling through Italy a few months after your mother was deposited right outside of Florence. Leonardo saw something in her eyes that he could find nowhere else, so he painted her.
Write to me with questions about your mother. I knew her very well. I’m sorry to hear of your father’s passing.
Think fondly, when you think of her.
Tamen Weppler
I read through his abruptly ended letter silently, before reaching inside the envelope one last time. Inside are two tickets. The first; a plane ticket to France. The second, a ticket to the Louvre, where the Mona Lisa is on display.
I study the small picture he gave me of the painting, and compare it to the picture I have of her, before she supposedly died in a car crash. The similarities are stunning. How had I not seen this before? My eyes glance quietly from picture to picture. I gaze into Mona Lisa’s -Leesil Hurst’s- eyes.
Her eyes swim with emotion. How had Leonardo Da Vinci captured all of the sentiment drifting through her mischievously unbroken gaze? The tiny smidge of an upturned mouth, not found anywhere else in such a formal time period? They ask why he picked a random peasant. Why he chose her, a plain, poor woman.
The reason?
He saw something in her eyes that he didn’t see anywhere else- he saw a glimpse into the future.